


He's With the Band

by Luces



Category: South Park
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Casual Sex, From Sex to Love, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2019-07-17 13:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16096652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luces/pseuds/Luces
Summary: Tweek is the lead singer for the up-and-coming band Humble Folx, but when he's not performing on stage, he's somewhat reclusive, and he always refuses to join his bandmates in interviews.Craig Tucker is a 23 year old music journalist who can't quite catch a break. He's hung up on his ex and his career at Treble and Bass magazine isn't headed in any real direction. That is until he's offered the chance to go on tour with Humble Folx and get the exclusive interview with Tweek.It's the summer that would change both of their lives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by a tumblr headcanon from @craigtherewhoisahomosexual from months ago. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it recently, so this is what has come from it. We'll see what happens.
> 
> Premise also inspired by the film Almost Famous.
> 
> Rated explicit because I don't think I'm capable of writing a chaptered fic that doesn't have graphic sex somewhere in it.

"And that's why we're super stoked about going on our first North American tour this summer, Chet! We're ready to take that brass ring by the motherfucking balls!"

"Clyde, you dork." Token shook his head, laughing at his longtime friend. "Why would a brass ring even  _have_  balls?"

"Shit, I don't know! It sounded cooler in my head!"

"I get the feeling that this interview is basically done, Chet," Token said, looking to the host.

Kenny shook his head, realizing that this interview had completely fallen apart. He folded his arms and slumped back in his chair, his hoodie falling over his eyes as he did. Jimmy leaned forward to get into the center of the camera.

"I p-p-promise, ladies and gentlem-men. Clyde is actualaa~ah...actually a great guitarist, and much c-cooler than this. Usually."

"Hey!" Clyde exclaimed, much to the amusement of his fellow bandmates.

"Alright then, I guess it's time to sign off! I'm sorry that we weren't able to have a live performance today, as promised, but as our outro this episode, here is the first single from their self titled album, on sale June twenty-ninth. Please enjoy Humble Folx's cover of Fleetwood Mac's "The Chain". For Underground Jamz, this has been Chet B!"

The four young men waved at the camera and said goodbye to the unseen viewers at home. After a moment, the host disconnected the webcam from the live stream and leaned back in his chair. His partner, who was currently working the technical side of their Youtube show, began to stream the music video for the song before speaking up.

"From what I could see," the guy explained, "it seems like most of the live comments were asking who and where the lead singer was. It's a shame he had to go to his dad's funeral today."

"Yup. Real shame," Kenny mumbled. Token discreetly elbowed him in the side.

"If we get a lot of hits on the uploaded video," Chet began, "we can schedule another interview some time when Tweek can be with us. Frontmen are what the people want, you know!"

Chet laughed, his enormous smile seemingly taking up half of his face. He stood up and moved over to his partner to look over the rest of the social media feed. Their studio space was small and not at all glamorous, but had the overall feeling that something great could come of it. It was a perfect symbol for Humble Folx's career at that very moment.

They were a band out of Denver. No. They were actually out of South Park, Colorado, but they didn't really like to advertise that. Nothing cool ever came out of South Park, other than the occasional alien abduction, and those were still pretty lame. Regardless, that's where their journey had started. Five guys who grew up with each other since third grade, who all happened to end up with the same dream. Fifteen years later, all of their hard work and ambition was near bearing fruit.

Chet turned back to the four men. He lifted his hands in front of his chest and gave them two big thumbs up. They glanced at each other, not entirely sure what he was supposed to mean by that action. Chet got the hint.

"You're all set, guys. You can head out now. I know you're busy preparing for the tour."

The boys waved goodbye to the two-man crew of Underground Jamz, Youtube's premiere channel for all of your Colorado music scene needs. Their eyes squinted at the extreme difference in brightness as soon as they stepped outside. It had been overcast when they first arrived, and the Underground Jamz studio had poor fluorescent lighting. A cloud of silence had fallen over them since the live stream had ended. As they piled into Token's grey SUV, it finally broke.

"I'm seriously pissed at Tweek for not coming.  _Again_ ," Clyde grumbled.

"Please don't tell me that you actually expected him to go to this," Kenny replied from the back seat. He started to drum out a rhythm on the window with his knuckles while aimlessly staring out the window.

"Well...I…" Clyde paused, then sighed. "I was hoping that maybe this time would be different."

"Th-that was your first mistake, my fr-fr-friend," Jimmy said.

He placed his crutches on the seats behind him before buckling himself in. He glanced over at Kenny and nudged his leg. When Kenny finally looked over at him, Jimmy nodded at his seat belt. Kenny rolled his eyes and reluctantly buckled in as well.

"Guys, I gotta keep some hope alive. Shit, what do I even have without that?" asked Clyde.

"A pretty sweet guitar and the skill to use it," Token said as he started the car. "Not to mention a fucking debut record that is about to come out in a few weeks and a tour that will take you across the country. I'd say that's a lot."

Clyde smiled. "Thanks, man. That helps me put things in perspective. Why do you gotta be so damn smart?"

Token laughed through his nose. "Smart, huh? According to my parents, I was quite the idiot for skipping college and thinking we could make this a living. Thank god they came around right before we got the contract offer. My dad sure saved our asses with all that legal bullshit."

"Yeah, remind me to get him a fruit basket or some shit to thank him for that," said Clyde.

Token pulled out onto the road and the four of them headed home to their apartment that they had been sharing together since they left South Park.

Living together had been a major change for all of them. They had started their band in South Park, and that's where they were based for about three years. Clyde had convinced the others that in order to take their band to the next level, they needed to move to a city. Any major city, really, but Denver had been the closest.

Token had moved from the posh lifestyle that he had grown up with—even if he had still been living with his parents. It was a drastic change in standard of living, but he was happy for the independence. For Kenny, sharing a modestly sized apartment with four of his closest friends was a huge upgrade from his family's nearly condemned house that he had lived in his whole life. Clyde and Jimmy had been roommates ever since they graduated high school, mainly because both of their parents had kicked them out, eager to reclaim their empty nest. Moving in with the others wasn't that big of a change for them, except that the dude smell was a lot stronger and much more pervasive.

Tweek had been the only one to live alone previously. He had moved out of his childhood home as soon as he was able, and had been talking about getting away from his parents since junior year of high school. One would think that going from living alone to living with four other people would have been a drastic change for Tweek, but it really hadn't. Tweek tended to spend most of his time alone in his room, rarely coming out, except for meals and band practice. He liked to spend most of his time write lyrics in a quiet room, dimly lit by candles, a strong coffee by his side and a burning cigarette in his hand.

Don't take it the wrong way, though. It's not that he didn't like his bandmates. They were his best friends. However, he had always been an awkward kid, and then had been diagnosed with general anxiety disorder with some paranoid behaviors in his early teens. He had learned to isolate himself from others. It was a habit that he hadn't quite unlearned as an adult, even as he was adequately medication. This was not common behavior for the lead vocalist of an up and coming rock band.

Except that when Tweek got on stage, it was like he became a different person. Gone was the anxious, twitchy, somewhat paranoid young man that was usually presented to the world. Tweek became bold, brash, and engaging. He held crowds in the palm of his hand. He lost all inhibitions when he was performing. Clyde, Token, Jimmy, and Kenny were a solid band unit on their own, but Tweek was the element that gave the band their identity and their life force.

Which, unfortunately for the rest of the band, was why every interviewer always wanted to know why Tweek wasn't present. Lead singers often were the face of the band to the mainstream public, and right now, on the cusp of their first real tour, they were faceless. What could they really say to those who asked why Tweek wasn't there? That he just didn't want to come? That he was afraid that he'd have a panic attack on camera? The truth was something that would hurt their image as a band, so they had begun to create some excuses that sounded believable. They had worked so far, but it was getting to the point where they were starting to wearing thin.

When they finally arrived home, the living room was still empty and dark.

"I guess Tweek never came out of his room then, huh?" said Kenny.

He flopped down onto the couch and turned on the television. He pushed his worn out sneakers off and placed his sock-covered feet onto the coffee table. Token opened his mouth to scold him for it, but closed it before he actually said anything. It was simply an old reflex he had from living with his parents. In his parent's home, feet were never to be placed on the table. In their Denver apartment, almost anything went. As long as the bills were paid, the trash was taken out, and laundry was done in a timely manner, none of them really cared where feet, hands, or even dicks went.

"This fresh pot of coff-f-ffee would say otherw-wise." Jimmy picked up the glass pot and took a whiff of the contents. "Smells strong. I'd h-have a cup, but Tweek would have my h-head."

"I'm still pissed at him," Clyde brooded in the corner. "Like it wasn't even that long of an interview, and right now we really need to build up hype so we can sell these fucking tickets. It feels like he doesn't even care sometimes. I mean, I know he does, but...ugh, sometimes I wish he would just try harder."

"Have you ever actually told him this?" Kenny asked.

"Well...no."

"There's no time like the present, dude." Kenny raised both his hands in the air, sticking his thumbs up. "I say go for it. What's the worst that can happen? Tweek quits the band and we have no vocalist for the tour?"

"Oh shit, no no no! Then we'd either need to hold auditions or I might be forced to sing! And I'm just back-up vocals at best!"

"Then I guess you shouldn't blow it, huh? Good luck, tiger!"

Clyde scowled at Kenny's sarcastic tone. He loved the guy, but sometimes he could be a jerk. He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. It was now or never. Something had to be done about Tweek's absence from the band's tour promoting before it was too late. He pushed his sleeves up his arms and headed toward Tweek's room.

Token chuckled as he sat down next to Kenny on the couch.

"He's cute, thinking that he'd be the one to take over lead vocals," he said, Kenny and Jimmy joining in the laughter.

Clyde knocked on the door in an attempt to be polite. No response. He figured there'd be no response, but he still wanted to give Tweek fair warning that he was about to come in. When he opened the door, the room was even darker than the living room. It would have been near pitch black if it weren't for the few candles that were placed on either side of his bed. Tweek sat cross legged in the middle of the bed, head tilted down, pen cap between his teeth. His still burning cigarette butt sat in his crystal ashtray, giving off a slight glow. Tweek didn't flinch or look up from his spot, even when Clyde closed the door with a fairly loud click.

"So...we're back. Obviously," he awkwardly began.

Tweek didn't answer. He continued to gnaw on the pen cap, deep in thought. Clyde watched him in silence for a moment. Tweek reached a jittery hand out to find his mug of coffee, taking a deep sip once he brought it to his lips. The pen cap somehow managed to stay in his mouth. He quickly placed the mug back on the bedside table and grabbed the pen from his mouth, a noise of excitement cutting through the stagnant air. He furiously scribbled something down in the notebook that sat on his lap. When he was done, he tore the page out. He looked up at Clyde, finally acknowledging his presence, and held it out for him to take.

"Here. New song."

Clyde took it from his hand, not bothering to try to read it in the dim lighting. He folded it up neatly, then stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans, rendering the careful folds worthless.

"Cool. I'll check it out later."

Clyde shifted his weight from foot to foot as he watched Tweek pick up his pack of cigarettes and pull out another one. He knew that he was just procrastinating from the conversation he really didn't want to have, but he rationalized his decision, deciding that it would probably go better once Tweek got some more nicotine into his system.

"So…" Clyde began as Tweek exhaled. "You need to start coming to these interviews, man. Everyone wants to ask you things, to get to know you, and we're running out of excuses. Shit, dude, I've seen some assholes online even saying that you might not be real! That you're just a fucking hologram or something."

Tweek laughed at the comment. "Maybe I am a hologram." He paused, eyes widening as he thought about his words. "Maybe I  _am_  a hologram… Wait. Can holograms hold solid objects? Or…is this cigarette also a hologram?"

"Dammit, Tweek! Focus!" Clyde interjected, his voice raising. "I'm serious!"

"You know I can't do interviews, Clyde."

Tweek took another drag off his cigarette and stretched his legs out. He spread them wide enough that his feet hung off either side of the bed. Clyde watched as his face turned to stone.

"It's never gonna happen, so don't waste your breath."

The two men stared at each other, neither flinching. That is, until Tweek flinched. His left eye twitched, as it so often did, and he slipped the cigarette between his lips so that he could grab his pen again.

"That sounds like it could be a lyric," he muttered as he scribbled his previous sentence down.

Clyde let out an irritated sigh. He went to exit, pausing in the open door.

"This isn't over Tweek. We're about to go on the tour that will make or break our career, and I'm not about to let you ruin it for all of us because you're afraid of being interviewed."

He closed the door behind him, leaving Tweek to write down who knows what for lyrics. Tweek wrote constantly. About one third was genius, one third was great after a lot of input and editing from his bandmates, and one third was complete and utter nonsense.

Clyde rubbed his temples. It was time to put his foot down.

 

* * *

 

Tweek was still holed up in his room later that night. Clyde returned from a trip downtown. He had left with the reasoning of bringing home some pizza, but that hadn't been the main reason he went out. Once he had placed the pizza boxes on the kitchen counter and squeezed through the hungry stampede of Token, Jimmy, and Kenny, Clyde made a beeline for Tweek's room, large canvas tote in hand.

Tweek yelped when Clyde burst in through his bedroom door, this time without warning.

"Hey, what gives?!" he asked, hand clutched to his chest.

Clyde turned the bag upside down over Tweek's bed and several magazines fell out. Tweek looked up at Clyde and raised his eyebrow.

"Um...thanks? But I don't really read magazines. Too many ads. That amount of marketing manipulation is too much pressure. I can't buy everything!"

"I told you this wasn't over, Tweek. These are all of the music magazines I could find for sale. I also bought pizza."

Tweek's eyes lit up at the mention of pizza. He started to jump up off the bed, but Clyde's large hand easily pushed him back down.

"Clyde, what the fuck?" He glared at his friend, who had an awfully smug look on his face at the moment.

"Ah-ah-ah! You can't have any pizza yet. You need to stay in here and pick someone you're willing to have interview you. I'm not going to continue to waste my time trying to get you to do a filmed interview, but you have to do a written one."

Tweek looked incredulously at Clyde. "You're kidding. Ha ha, very funny, Clyde."

Clyde smiled sweetly. "You'd better get started and hope you find a person you like real fast. That broccoli, onion, and garlic pizza out there with your name on it isn't getting any warmer."

"Nooo! You're a fucking asshole!"

Clyde left the room with a big smile on his face. He could hear Tweek continuing to curse him out through the door.

About an hour later, Tweek finally emerged from his room. He headed directly for his pizza to grab a slice before heading into the living area where the rest of the band was still watching TV. He dropped a folded magazine onto the coffee table.

"There, you fuckhead." Tweek crossed his arms and sneered. "That guy," he said, pointing at the magazine. "I'll let that guy interview me. No one else. Happy now?"

"It's about fu-fu-fucking time," Jimmy mumbled.

"Yes, we're very happy," Clyde grinned. "Who did you pick? Some award winning journalist who's been in the biz for thirty years? Some buzz worthy up and comer?"

The four men leaned forward to get a better look at the magazine. Tweek had drawn a circle with a sharpie around a small blurb in a light purple box. It was so small, in fact, that most people probably wouldn't bother to pay it any attention. At the bottom of the blurb was the author's name.

Kenny scrunched his nose. "Who the fuck is Craig Tucker?"


	2. Chapter 2

Craig put the crook of his arm up to his face and sneezed into his shirt sleeve. He sighed as he reached for a tissue, thinking back to all of the anime and manga he had consumed back in middle school. According to old Japanese superstition, when you sneeze suddenly, it's because someone is talking about you. He had no clue who would be talking about him right now, but whoever it was, he assumed it wasn't something good.

He looked at the time on the bottom of the computer screen. 7:24 PM. Ugh. He was supposed to get off work at five, but here he was, still at his desk. Then again, he wasn't the only one. Tomorrow morning was the deadline for the latest issue of Treble and Bass magazine, or T and B, as the cool kids called it. At least Craig assumed that's what they'd call it if cool people even read magazines anymore. Print sales had been falling steadily each year.

When it was deadline time, the entire staff worked until late to get everything in. Craig had only been a staff member for about a year. Before that, he had worked as an intern for the company straight out of university. Music had always been a passion of his, but he had no musical talent and no motivation to keep practicing until he improved. He did, however, always have a way with words. At least that's what his teachers in high school had told him. That's what led him to majoring in journalism with a minor in music history. His parents had told him it was an awful idea, but he rarely listened to them anyway. He just had dreams of being able to see concerts for free and then being able to critique them in great detail, whether good or bad.

Of course, that's not how things actually worked in the real world. Not at the beginning of one's career, that is. Craig was currently more of a grunt than anything. He helped with research and fact checking sometimes. Other times, he would assist with formatting when a writer was deemed too important to do that themselves. Mostly, though, he did random small tasks around the office. Including coffee runs. Once he became an official staff member, not much had actually changed from when he was an intern.

However, Craig had managed to convince the editor-in-chief to let him write a small blurb every month. No more than two hundred and fifty words. The editor-in-chief cared so little about this blurb, knowing full well that no one would ever read it, that she didn't care what it was about. She probably never read them herself, to be honest.

Craig realized that he could write about whatever the fuck he wanted. At first, he simply wrote about anything in the music industry that he found interesting. However, after writing a few bits about queer musicians or issues facing the industry, he realized that he could use his small featurette as a platform to showcase LBGTQ+ performers. There were few queer voices in print music publications, and as a proudly open gay man, he wanted to change that.

Thus the Queer Spotlight was born.

Craig rubbed the back of his neck. How long had he been sitting in this chair? He had been so involved with all of the other busy work this month that he hadn't gotten around to putting something together for the Queer Spotlight, and now that he was at the deadline, he was panicking. He was stuck with writer's block. The section was only two hundred to two hundred and fifty words, and yet he couldn't even pull something kinda-sorta meaningful out of his ass.

"Hey! Tucker!"

Craig spun around in his chair to find his boss's assistant standing in the doorway. He was always made to do the editor-in-chief's dirty work, which was obviously why he was here right now. Craig never really liked the guy. He was the poster boy for being a kiss-ass.

"What do you want, Cartman?" Craig asked.

"I told you to call me Eric. Cartman doesn't sound professional at all, and someday, I'll be your boss, so you'd better get on my good side."

"Did you only come down here to give me vague threats, or did my  _actual_  boss have a message for me?"

Craig knew that being snide was never going to get him far in his career, but it was a habit that he could never break. His mouth had gotten him in trouble more times than he could remember.

Eric grimaced and crossed his arms. "She wants to know if you're finally done with your gay little snippet. She'd like it on her desk by eight, but I'm going to assume by the blank screen behind you that that's not gonna happen."

Craig's shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His air of confidence and assertiveness melted away into concern.

"Yeah,  _there_  are your true feelings," Eric said, nodding. "Your worry is just so delicious. But I don't think I could have another serving. I have to check in on everyone else in this entire fucking office, so I can't stay much longer."

He turned to leave, but lingered in the doorway.

"If you want, I can try to get you an extension. I can't promise much, but I can probably get you another hour."

Craig ran his fingers through his ebony locks. They felt greasy and flat. He had forgotten to take a shower the other day in his panic about the deadline. He mentally made a note to take one once he finally got home.

"Yeah, that would help. Why would you bother doing that for me, though?" he asked.

Eric turned back to look at Craig. "I may hate you, and I may hate my boss even more, but I love this magazine. I wouldn't want it to go to print looking like shit. What kind of editor-in-chief would I be someday if I allowed each issue to not be the best damn issue ever? A shitty one. I'm looking for end game, Tucker. And maybe you should, too."

Eric left the room, not bothering to close Craig's door. Craig sighed and stretched in his chair. He decided to assume that he was going to get the hour extension—Eric was quite good at convincing others to do things—and get up to take a break.

He went to the break room to heat up some water. He filed through the handful of tea offerings in the room, scowling when he didn't find one that interested him. All of the tea bags were some green or white tea fruit blend, or what made him even more pissed off, some sort of hipster tea made from flowers or roots.

"Who doesn't offer plain fucking black tea?" he mumbled to himself.

Craig liked the simple things in life. Some people would say that he liked the boring things. Actually, most people would say that. Most of his previous boyfriends ended up leaving him for that very reason. They were all interested in going out every night. They wanted drama. Excitement. Craig wanted to cook some instant ramen and watch shows about cute animals. That was his idea of a great fucking night.

He reluctantly returned to his office with plain black coffee. He wasn't a huge fan, but it got the job done.

7:47 PM. Craig took a quick sip from the coffee, immediately regretting it when it burned his tongue. He tapped his fingers on his cheap wooden desk. He chewed on his lower lip. He noted that his lips were awfully chapped. Seriously, what sort of upstanding gay man is he if he allows his lips to get this bad? Then again, it's not like anyone has been kissing him lately, so why should he really give a shit? He decided to buy some lip balm in the morning anyway. Just in case.

Craig let out a growl of frustration and smashed his keyboard.

"There! There's my Spotlight for the month! I think everyone will be able to relate to this one!" he yelled out to no one.

Craig deleted his frantic string of vowels and consonants, finally admitting defeat. He decided that this month's Queer Spotlight was just going to be some quick mention about Lady Gaga's new movie. That was gay enough, right? He just hoped that readers would be excited enough to read about her some more that they wouldn't notice that the writer had clearly gone through the motions this issue.

* * *

Craig opened the door to his shitty apartment and immediately knew that his roommate had someone over for the night. Thankfully it was only some unknown clothes strewn on the floor that clued him in, and not the foul stench of sex. When you're having sex, the smell just kind of goes with the whole experience. However on its own, when you're tired and lonely, it just may be one of the worst scents known to humankind.

Craig rolled his eyes and closed the door, locking the four deadbolts that decorated it. In this neighborhood, you could never be too cautious. It wasn't his first choice of neighborhoods to live in, but when you're young and trying to make it living in New York City, you have to make some sacrifices. Craig's biggest sacrifice was living in the most affordable neighborhood, which also happened to have the highest crime rate per capita. He often kicked himself for not trying to find a place just outside of the city—maybe in New Jersey—and commute in. He kicked himself for letting his roommate make most of the decisions in regards to location. He usually didn't want to get involved with anything major, but he realized about a week later that maybe he should have been involved in that  _one_  thing.

He went into his room and flopped face first onto his bed. He had managed to get his awful entry in on time, thanks to the extension Cartman secured for him. He still didn't feel  _proud_  of what he wrote. It had felt more like something you'd find in People magazine, and Craig typically held himself to high standards. Whatever. It was over. Next week was when work on the new issue began. A fresh start.

Craig narrowed his eyes. What was that faint squeaking sound? Was it getting louder?

Oh fuck. His roommate was going in for round two. Or seven. Who knows how long they'd been here before Craig got home.  _Fucking Stan_. He knew that tonight was Craig's deadline. Did he  _have_ to bring home some new plaything tonight? Craig rolled over in bed and covered his head with his pillow. The squeaking got louder, and was now accompanied by the bed banging against the wall and moaning.

Wonderful. Just wonderful.

Times like this made him feel very lonely, and—as much as he didn't like to admit it—very horny. Craig picked up his phone and swiped the screen. He opened up his Facebook app and headed straight to one page in particular. That of his most recent ex.

Craig felt like he should be over Thomas by now. It had been almost a year since they had broken up. In his defense, they had been together for three years, and things had gotten serious to the point of discussing the idea of marriage. They had met in college while doing laundry in the dorm basement, and had nearly instant chemistry. Maybe that's what was their eventual downfall? That they had too much in common? That they were too much of a good thing? Craig liked to tell himself that, but really it was that they drifted apart once they had graduated and entered the working world. Both of them worked too many hours trying to establish themselves in their careers, and their schedules rarely synched up. Eventually Thomas was the one who suggested that they move on. That he didn't regret the happy years he spent with Craig, but at this point they were treading water with no land in sight. Craig's often flat affect when things got emotional stayed just that, even as the person he loved most was breaking up with him. He just nodded and agreed. He didn't try to put up a fight for their relationship. That was probably what he regretted most. He still believed that if he had tried to show how much he cared about him and their relationship, Thomas may have stayed.

But that's not how things happened. So now Craig was once again stalking Thomas's page. It looked like he had finally moved on, assuming that the profile picture of him kissing another man on some unfamiliar beach was any indication.

Craig closed the app and opened his stash of photos on his phone. He scrolled through until he found the special ones he had taken of Thomas on their second anniversary. He shoved his hand down his pants and whimpered when he wrapped his hands around his aching cock. He hadn't been with anyone other than his hand since the break-up. Fuck, he craved the feeling of another person, but he just couldn't get himself to go out to any bars or clubs. He sure as shit wasn't about to join Grindr or some other hook-up app pretending to be a dating app.

He stroked himself slowly at first, gazing at the beautiful naked form of his ex. Once he realized that he wasn't going to last very long, what with the photo plus the loud sex sounds in the other room, he gripped his cock tighter and stroked faster. He finally came. He covered his mouth with his free hand to muffle the long groan he let out.

He wiped his hands on his pants and dropped his phone on the floor. A normal person would have gotten out of bed to clean up in the bathroom. Craig never did whenever he jerked off to photos of Thomas. He was always so wrought by guilt that he could never look himself in the mirror afterward. He soon fell asleep; that guilty feeling, his blanket.

* * *

A week later, Craig was busy loading a new toner cartridge into the floor printer when Cartman found him.

"Hey, Tucker! Can I see you for a minute?"

"Can't you see I'm busy, Cartman?" he said, flatly.

"I  _told_  you to call me Eric!" He sighed and continued. "I can see that you're really busy," he said, his voice drenched with sarcasm, "but I'm pretty damn sure you're going to want to hear what I have to say."

"Ugh, fine. Give me five minutes to finish this stupid errand they gave me and I'll come by your office. Okay?"

Craig soon found himself sitting across from Eric in an office that was, unsurprisingly, nicer than his own. The difference in power was made obvious by Eric's choices in seating. He sat in a large, probably second-hand, but nevertheless nice leather chair. Craig, however, sat in a plain wooden chair.

"Craig, I invited you in here to discuss the opportunity of a lifetime."

"I don't give a shit about any of your get rich quick schemes, Eric," Craig interrupted.

"Will you let me finish my damn pitch? This has nothing to do with those." He sighed and folded his hands together. "This morning, the editor-in-chief got a call from the manager of some up and coming band out of Denver. I think they're called Humble Folx or some shit."

Craig raised an eyebrow. "Humble Folx? You're making that up."

"Nope. That's  _actually_  their name. They have a song on the radio right now. A cover of 'The Chain'."

"I think I might have heard it once or twice. Didn't know the band name."

"Anyway," Cartman continued, "word around the internet is that the lead singer has never done an interview. Anytime the band has been interviewed, he's nowhere to be found. They usually have some bullshit excuse, or say that he's trying to maintain an air of mystery. Ugh. Well, apparently this guy has finally decided that he's willing to do an interview."

"That's cool for him. What does this have to do with me, though?" Craig asked.

"It turns out that he has requested you to interview him."

Craig stared at Eric. This made no sense. How does anyone even know who he is? Sure, he knew he had some fans of his writing, at least according to the couple hundred followers he had on Twitter who weren't bots. Still, none of those people were signed performers. And why would this guy want him over any other music journalist? He sounded like an idiot. He could turn this into some sort of bidding war and make a good chunk of change. The person to nab the elusive interview of a hot young artist. It could help make the band's career if they got someone really famous to interview him.

"You're fucking with me," Craig finally replied.

"I can assure you that I most definitely am not. And you know how rarely I say that," said Eric.

"Why me?" Craig asked.

"I'm also still trying to wrap my head around that, but according to their manager, he read one of your gay strobelight things and liked it."

"It's Queer Spotlight, dick."

"Whatever. I overheard the conversation because the idiot-in-chief puts every call on speaker. She was going to say no to their proposition, but I ran in and managed to convince her otherwise. She said fine, but that I was in charge of the whole thing so that she didn't have to deal with it. This is my chance, Tucker. My first real big break!"

Eric's eyes beamed with hope.

"Wouldn't this also be my chance at a big break?" asked Craig.

"Yeah, yeah, I guess. So are you in?"

"Yeah, of course. What does this include? Do I have to go to Denver or are they going to stop in New York during their tour?"

Eric smiled confidently. "Both, technically. They are stopping in New York during the tour, but you still need to go to Denver. You're going to go on tour with them."

"Wait, what? Why do I have to do that for one fucking interview?!" Craig gripped at the arms of the chair, scratching his fingernails on the lacquered wood.

"It was part of the negotiation. Instead of just one interview, you're going to go with them and create a diary of sorts for their tour. It will be exclusive to our website to try to create some buzz. They're going to advertise it on their tour so that fans will go to our site, and people who are fans of us will get to know them. It's a win-win. Finally, at the end of the tour, you'll write a full interview for the magazine. It's a brilliant plan, Craig. And it's all mine."

"And you never thought that you should ask  _me_  about this first?"

"I'm asking you now, aren't I?"

Craig rubbed his face with his hands and groaned. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. He just really wished that it hadn't been sprung up on him like this. He didn't exactly  _like_  surprises. Even so, he knew the answer he had to give.

"So when do I leave?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those of you who have left kudos, bookmarked, subscribed, or commented on this tiny fish of a fic in the huge sea of Creek fics out there. ^^()


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose this chapter could be called sexy-adjacent.

"Hey Tweek? Do you think your parents coming tomorrow night?" Token asked from the kitchen.

Tweek checked the time on his phone. Five more minutes to process and then it was time to hop into the shower.

"Please, like my parents even remember I exist. Remember, they were pretty fucking neglectful. Not in the 'forgetting to feed my kid' or 'not bringing my child to the doctor' way, but in the never really fully acknowledging me as a person way. Pretty sure as soon as I moved out and they didn't have to see me every day, they thought that they'd spent the past eighteen years raising a child named Tweak Bros Coffee. Honestly, we're all happier this way."

He adjusted the towel around his neck. It had been a while since he had last dyed his hair, and he needed it to be fresh for tomorrow's event. He had decided to go with an electric green, leaving the color off of one small portion of his natural blond as a sort of highlight. He figured if it ended up looking like shit, he could just dye the whole thing later.

"That seriously sucks, dude. Fuck your parents," Token replied. He was quiet for a moment before speaking again. "My folks said they'd be there, but I'm not sure if I want them to come."

"Why?" Tweek asked, peeking his head out of the bathroom.

"Think about it. This is our last show at our home base, so to say. It's gonna get pretty wild. On top of that, it's doubling as our album release party. People are going to be wasted and you know there will be a whole lot of titties hanging out."

"Maybe even a few dicks, hehe," Kenny interjected. He poked his head into the bathroom to grab his hairbrush. "I'm going to have  _such_  a good time." His smile went from ear to ear. "I've even prepared for this momentous occasion."

"Let me guess. Condoms and lube?" Tweek said, rolling his eyes.

"You know me so well, babe," Kenny grinned, leaning in to plant a kiss on Tweek's cheek.

Tweek playfully pushed him away. "Get the fuck out of here, man!" he laughed.

"I'm just getting ready to practice safe sex, my friend. And don't act all high and mighty with me. Like  _you_  don't plan on getting laid tomorrow."

A small smile appeared on Tweek's face. "Maybe. If the right person comes along."

"So someone with a pulse," said Token.

"Fuck you! I'm not some random slut like Kenny!"

Tweek's cheeks grew red. Whether this was from anger, embarrassment, or a combination of both was unknown.

"All of Colorado knows I'm slutty, but we're talking about  _your_  sluttiness," Kenny replied.

"Are you guys talking about how much of a slut Tweek is?" Clyde chimed as he came out of his room.

By now, Tweek's ears were bright red. "Fuck all of you!" he screeched, disappearing back into the bathroom.

"That's our point exactly!" Kenny grinned.

Tweek slammed the door shut, drowning out the raucous laughter of his friends.

* * *

Craig stood at his bed, going over everything he had laid out to be packed. He wasn't sure how many clothes he should bring. Enough for one week, he figured, although he had no idea when or where he'd be able to do laundry. That was something that had not been covered when Cartman had gone over the logistics of the trip. Craig figured he'd be able to sneak off to a laundromat for a few hours at least once a week. Right? It's not like he had to be with these guys at every waking moment. He was there to get to know them, to interview them, not to babysit them.

Once he was certain that he had everything ready to go, he opened the luggage set that his roommate, Stan, had bought him. It was a combination congratulations and good luck gift after Craig had told him about the opportunity he was being given. Craig had tried to refuse it, as it was pretty good luggage and he didn't like people spending a lot of money on him, but Stan had insisted.

"So are you heading out tonight or in the morning?"

Craig looked over his shoulder to see Stan standing in the doorway.

"Hey. Tomorrow morning. By the way, thanks again for the luggage. You didn't need to, but it was really helpful," he said.

"Of course I had to!" said Stan.

He entered the room and stood next to Craig, watching as he folded his clothes and placed them neatly inside the largest suitcase.

"This is a really big fucking deal, and you'll want to make a good first impression with these rich band guys. If you walked up with those ratty ass old duffel bags you were going to use, they'd probably have eaten you alive."

"Heh," Craig said softly. "I don't know if some rocker dudes are going to give a shit what my luggage looks like, but I appreciate the sentiment." He glanced over his shoulder at Stan once more. "By the way, can you take care of Floof while I'm gone? I left instructions for her care on the fridge."

"Of course, dude. I'm pretty sure you'd murder me as slowly and painfully as possible if I allowed anything to happen to your guinea pig princess."

Craig nodded slowly, humming to himself while he double checked the number of sock pairs he was bringing. Stan stood quietly to the side, watching him, shifting weight from foot to foot. Craig could feel the anxiety coming off of him and it pissed him off.

"Dude, whatever it is you want to say, just fucking say it already. I'm getting contact anxiety from you standing there," he said.

"Umm...so...you're going to be gone for awhile, right,? And I've only been dating Kyle for a few weeks, but…" Stan mumbled.

"You wanna know if he can sleep over while I'm gone. Is that it?"

Craig turned to face Stan directly. He was staring at his feet, blushing, his eyes open wide and excited.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes."

"I know we've only been together a few weeks, but he seems like the real deal. I think…" Stan hesitated, wondering if he should say his thought out loud. "I think I might be in love with him, Craig."

Craig sighed and closed his suitcase. It was a bit overstuffed, so he leaned his weight down onto it so he could zip it up with ease.

"It's not love. You're just feeling new relationship energy. It's not realistically possible to love someone in that short a time."

Stan was silent. Craig was afraid to look over at him. This wasn't the first time that Craig had criticized Stan for falling in love too quickly with people who weren't right for him. Back then, however, Craig had been in a long term relationship and was the so-called expert. He braced himself, just waiting for Stan to say something snide about Thomas, or about how Craig hasn't even hooked up with anyone since then, so what does  _he_  know about love or new relationships?

"Damn, remind me to never tell you shit," Stan finally answered with a chuckle.

Craig let out a sigh of relief. He felt as though he'd dodged a bullet. Stan probably held back, for his sake, since he was about to leave for two months.

"Look," Craig said, giving in. "I'm fine with him sleeping over while I'm away. Just...no sex in my room, okay? I really don't want to come home to a bed full of DNA that isn't mine."

"Scout's honor," Stan said, holding up his index and middle fingers together. "And thanks, dude."

"Welcome," Craig muttered.

Once Stan left, Craig pulled out his phone and opened up  _that_  photo of Thomas. Ten minutes later, while he was cleaning up from yet another shameful masturbation session, he looked at himself in the mirror. He was a conventionally attractive guy. He could easily find someone to fuck, if he wanted. Yet the inability to let go of his longest and most recent relationship was holding him back. He rubbed his hands over his face before slamming them down on the bathroom sink, startling Floof in her pen. He had decided.

By the end of the summer, he was going to finally let go of Thomas.

* * *

This whole trip didn't feel real to Craig until he was finally up in the air. Not while packing. Not while on the way to the airport. Not even while boarding the plane. He had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that Cartman was going to jump out behind something and shout  _"gotcha!"_ But that didn't happen, and the likelihood that Cartman would buy his own ticket to Denver just to prank Craig on the plane or at his hotel was pretty slim.

This  _was_  real. The clouds underneath the plan outside his window were proof of that. So was the flash drive with Humble Folx's soon-to-be released album on it. Craig had received it once the plans for him to travel with the band had been finalized. It had been in his possession for a while now, but he hadn't listened to it yet. He had wanted to wait until he was on the plane to Denver. Craig knew himself well, and he knew that he was just enough of a self-sabotager to go back on the offer if he thought the band sucked. Most people would just deal with music they didn't like for two months for the career boost, but Craig would rather continue to tread water than be forced to listen to crap for two months.

He opened his Surface Pro and inserted the flash drive. He popped his earbuds in, let his chair recline back the two inches given in coach, and hit play.

Humble Folx was...okay. From one listen all the way through, they didn't sound like anything special. They weren't bad. Not at all. They were solid, but Craig wasn't blown away. He felt like he had heard this before, but better. After a second listen from beginning to end, his feelings were unchanged.

He felt most disappointed with the band's first single, a cover of Fleetwood Mac's "The Chain". He had caught it once or twice on a grocery store's radio station, but he had never actually had a close listen. Going over it now, it was a solid enough cover. They didn't butcher the song...but they also didn't give it any new life. When a band covers a song, they should leave a piece of themselves with it. Make it  _unique_. Make it  _their own_. Humble Folx's version of "The Chain" sounded like the same song, just louder, a little heavier, and without female vocals.

Craig wasn't hired to review music, but in his opinion, this band was a flash in the pan, and honestly, kinda boring. Craig only liked boring in his personal life. Not in his music. He groaned and thumped his head against the airplane window. Two months of this shit. He would have to keep reminding himself that it was all for the interview.

The plane landed safely, and Craig was shocked that he didn't have to wait until the end of time for his luggage to show up on the baggage carousel. He arrived at his hotel surprisingly early, and hardly took any time to get settled. He checked his phone. 7:02 PM. He was feeling a bit tired, as it would be just after nine back at home, but he felt it was too early to turn in for the night. After flipping through every channel in the hotel's cable package, Craig decided to go out for once.

He found a place to eat dinner, and immediately started to miss the food of New York City. Not that he was able to eat out very often. When he did, it wasn't particularly fancy, either. Still, he was unsure if what he was putting in his mouth right now could legally be called pizza.

When he was finished, he took a walk around the blocks surrounding his hotel. Denver seemed to be nice enough, from what he could see. It was definitely quieter than back home. One would think that would be something that Craig would have liked, but in all honesty, he missed the noise. The noise was familiar and comforting. The quieter atmosphere here only reminded him that he wasn't at home.

Craig turned a corner and almost walked into a street light. He stopped quickly, avoiding collision, and found himself face to face with a crudely drawn poster.

_Humble Folx final show_

_before they go on tour!_

_9 PM at The Hideout_

_Tickets at the door_

How convenient. He certainly knew what he was doing tonight. Craig tore the flyer down off the pole and stuffed it into his pocket. What was the harm of watching the band perform before he officially met them?

* * *

"How many people are out there, Jimmy?" Clyde asked.

Ever since their first performance, Clyde had asked one of his bandmates how many people were in the audience. His hands balled into fists under his chin, his eyes wide with wonder. His right leg was bouncing with pent-up energy. He looked like a little boy wanting to know how many presents were under the tree at Christmas.

"Uhh...I c-can't really count all of th-them," said Jimmy, peeking out from the stage entrance. "Mayb-b-be...two hundred?"

"Oh shit, that's a lot! I'm so nervous!" Clyde's fists trembled under his chin, but his excited, expressive eyes told a different story.

"You're such a dork, man. You  _do_  realize that starting this weekend, we'll be performing in front of thousands, not hundreds," Kenny chimed in. He twirled his drumsticks between his fingers, warming them up for the show.

"Hey, are you guys ready?" The owner of the club popped in, startling Clyde.

"Yeah, just about," Kenny nodded.

The owner looked around the small green room. "Where's Tweek?"

"He's outside getting one last smoke in," replied Token. When the owner gave him an impatient look, Token put down his bass and stood up. "I'll go get him. We'll be on in five, okay?"

* * *

Token opened up the door to the alley behind the club. Tweek was leaning against the dirty brick wall, smoking billowing up above his head.

"We're on, dude," said Token.

"Yeah…be there in a minute," Tweek replied through an exhale of smoke.

All of Tweek's anxieties tended to amplify the hour before he went on stage. Performing on stage was what he lived for, yet he still ended up having serious stage fright. It wasn't uncommon for Token to be the one to find him and coax him toward the stage.

"Did you take your meds this morning?"

Tweek gave Token a look that said  _are you fucking kidding me?_  He held up what he'd been smoking so that Token could have a better look. It was a joint, and not his usually cigarette.

"Yup," Tweek answered.

Token rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean, asshole. You're  _other_  meds. The ones that will affect all of us if you suddenly  _stop_  taking them."

"What, are you the fucking mom character in the story of my life?  _Christ_ , Token." Tweek took one last large drag to finish off his joint. "Yes. I took them. You know I've been taking them responsibly for over a year."

"And you know I've been asking you every damn day for over a year. It's our routine."

Tweek snickered and smirked. "That it is. Just like you being the one to convince me to head to the stage. Every time. Goddammit, why does my brain have to actively work against itself?"

"If I had gone to college, maybe I could have found a way to permanently cure mental illness."

"Yeah, fuck you for not using that huge ass brain of yours and slumming it with the rest of us all these years," Tweek laughed.

"Well, we're not slumming it anymore, are we?"

Tweek smiled. "Nope. Alright let's do this."

* * *

Craig took a small sip of his martini. He wasn't quite sure why he had ordered it. He wasn't really a fan of martinis, but it just felt right at the time. The club had a two drink minimum, so he was cornered into drinking, but thankfully the prices weren't as steep as back home. The martini made him feel fancy when everything around him made him feel anything but. The Hideout was an older, grimy sort of music club. He was a bit surprised that a band about to go on a brand new tour with a fresh coat of polish would be performing in this sort of venue. He didn't bother overthinking it. He swirled the alcohol around in his glass, waiting for the show to begin.

The lights dimmed in the large room to the vocal delight of the crowd gathered around the small stage. After a moment, a single acoustic guitar began to play the opening bars of "The Chain". That caused Craig's ears to perk up. That hadn't actually been a part of their studio version. A small spotlight slowly faded in on the guitarist sitting on a stool. The bass drum then came in, quietly. They played together for about a minute, then stopped. The lights went out. Silence. The crowd went crazy. The small spotlight then focused in on the lead singer. He cupped the microphone lovingly in his hand and began to sing the opening lines of the song, a cappella.

Craig adjusted in his seat. The vocals were so haunting here. Nothing like on the album. Fuck, why hadn't they done  _this_  with the studio recorded version? It was so beautiful. His voice was soft, almost fragile sounding. When he reached the chorus, the full stage lights came on and the rest of the band joined in, with the guitarist having switched from acoustic to electric. The crowd went wild once more.

When the song reached the instrumental solos, the bassist was given plenty of time to improvise on top of the iconic bass line before the guitarist came in with his own jam session. In the meantime, the singer ran around on the stage, overflowing with energy. How could this be the guy who was supposedly a recluse?  _This guy?_  The one who is thrashing around the stage? The one who just jumped down into the crowd to dance with the fans? The one who's singing the outro while still in the audience and holding the mic up for fans to sing along? There must be some mistake.

Craig ordered another martini, feeling like he might need it if the show continued like this. The band performed a couple more songs from the album. They sounded closer to the studio versions, but the energy was much different. This was definitely a band that needed to be seen live. Craig wondered why they weren't able to channel this energy in the studio. He took out his phone and opened up a note-taking app so that he could jot down that question to ask them later.

"Hey Hideout, how are you feeling tonight?" said the vocalist, finally addressing the crowd.

"We love you, Tweek!" a rabid fan shouted from the floor.

"I love you, too. Why don't you come see me after the show," he winked and laughed. "You know…" he continued, running a hand through his messy green hair, "...with all of the love I'm feeling in here tonight...it's making me a little hot. What about you guys?"

The crowd whooped in response.

"When it gets this hot, I think that means it's time for a little ditty that you all know and love. This next one we had to call "Metaphor" on the album because the label wouldn't let us use the original. But you guys know its  _true_  name."

The bassist started playing the opening riff and the crowd roared.

"Let me hear it, now!" Tweek yelled, pointing the mic at the audience.

"'This Song is About Fucking!'" they yelled in unison.

Craig nearly did a spit take. He had heard the song on the album, but was not aware of its original name.

"That's right," he grinned.

Tweek grabbed his t-shirt by the bottom hem and pulled it up over his head with both hands, tossing it at the fan who he acknowledged earlier. He then dove into the song, which was just as filthy as the original song title would imply, but not exactly  _explicit_  in its lyrics. Like the new title suggested, the lyrics were all fairly clever metaphors for sex.

Craig took a long sip of his drink and shook his head, feeling the alcohol starting to hit him. He looked back at the stage and watched as Tweek was moving around the stage while he sang. His body slinked about the stage, slender hips rolling here and there. The fans were eating it up, waving singles at him like he was a stripper. At one point, he slid his hand down his bare chest to his groin. He cupped his hand around it, then stroked his hand down his left thigh and squeezed what was supposedly his dick. A sober Craig would have scoffed at such a blatant move. It was obviously just to get a reaction from the crowd, which it did, but Craig found the sexual tactic tired and overdone. The tipsy, perpetually horny Craig who was watching the performance, however, became  _very_  turned on.

He leaned his elbow onto the bar and bit his finger as he gawked at the performance. He watched Tweek, mesmerized. He spotted a small tattoo on his right shoulder blade, but he couldn't make out what it was. Also, were those nipple piercings? Either Tweek had piercings or his nipples were particularly shiny. Craig felt a sudden desire to know what those piercings felt like, and whether Tweek had any other ones he couldn't see right now.

Craig blinked rapidly several times in succession.  _Woah._  The alcohol was clearly getting to him. It wasn't like him to drool over random shirtless dudes. Or piercings. He wasn't even particularly attracted to piercings. Yet here he was, contemplating the sounds that this guy makes when they're played with.  _Fuck_ , he was horny.

Obviously this had been a poor decision, coming out to a club that had a drink minimum. If Craig had been sober, he would've been able to keep his base urges under control.

The song mercifully ended, freeing Craig from his hormone fueled thoughts. He felt his cheeks grow hot. Thank goodness that he didn't know anyone here, or this would've all been much more embarrassing.

It was shortly after eleven that Tweek announced that this was their final song.

"Thank you fuckers for coming out tonight and partying with us. We've got one more song for you, but don't go thinking the night's over yet. You motherfuckers have always been so supportive and you got us to where we are today. So to show our thanks, they're locking up early for the night and we have the bar till sunrise, so please stay with us for the Humble Folx album release party!"

The crowd roared in approval.

"Even you, boring guy sitting over at the bar drinking fucking dry-ass martinis all night," Tweek continued, pointing directly at Craig.

Craig looked up from his drink and locked eyes with Tweek on stage. He was smiling at him, and Craig felt a faint chill run up his spine.

"Yeah,  _you_ , dude! Even you should stay!"

Craig raised his glass in response and took a sip. Tweek continued to speak to the crowd in general for a moment before they transitioned into the final song. Craig barely paid attention to it. Instead he debated with himself about whether he should stay for just one more drink, or whether he should go back to the hotel for the night. On one hand, he could maybe get to talk to some of the band members in a candid way before everything became about promotion and their public image. On the other hand, he was scheduled to meet up with the band at 8 AM the next day. He wanted to be professional and well-rested on his first day, even if he knew the band wouldn't be. He also didn't want to risk having a raging hard on when he first introduced himself.

Craig decided to ask the bartender for a tall glass of water and to sit for a while as he waited to sober up a bit. It was the wise adult choice. Some would say the boring choice, but that was fine by him.

Craig was soon swallowed up by the mass of people who surrounded him, vying for the bartender's attention. At least half of the people in attendance ran over to get drinks as soon as Humble Folx left the stage. Craig could hear a stage crew breaking down the drum kit and clearing off the amps and other electronics, but he couldn't see them through the people. For a moment, Craig actually felt like he was drowning. He quickly drank down the remainder of his water and placed a five dollar tip under the glass.

Craig struggled to fight his way out of the crowd. Sweaty bodies of people hopped up on the adrenaline rush from a concert and who knows what else, sandwiched together in a tight space. This was what Craig hated. He always stayed in his seat at the end of concerts. He waited until the crowds had thinned out. During a concert, crowds were fun. A part of the show. After the concert was over, they were just nuisances.

He finally squeezed his way out. He gasped in the fresh air, glad to be out of the body odor zone. He scanned the room, searching for the location of the bathroom. He thought about waiting until he returned to his hotel, but the alcohol was moving through his system quickly, and there was a good chance that he'd get lost on the way back.

He saw some of the members of the band schmoozing with fans. The guitarist was holding court in the center of the room. It looked as though he would never stop talking, but those around him were hanging in his every word, letting out laughter here and there. Craig thought he saw the keyboardist over in a darkened corner with a woman in his lap, but he didn't get a good look. He did get a good look at the drummer with his face inches away from some woman's bare breasts as he signed his name on them. The huge grin on both parties faces made Craig roll his eyes.

He finally saw the sign for the bathroom on the other side of the club. He made his way toward the sign, happy to have a moment of peace once he was finally inside.

Craig made a beeline for the urinal, unzipping his pants and emptying his bladder. He let out a soft moan as he felt the relief. Somehow, the moan seemed to continue even after he closed his mouth. Craig had thought that he was alone in the bathroom, but clearly he was wrong. He quickly shook himself off and tucked himself back into his trousers.

Craig quietly moved over to the stalls. He knew he should just leave, but his liquor-soaked brain was curious as to the source of the noise. He walked down the row of stalls toward the accessible one, not finding anyone in the smaller ones. He swallowed hard and peered into the final stall.

The lead singer of the band had his back pressed against the wall, and he had what appeared to be a woman on her knees in front of him. His black skinny jeans were pushed down around his thighs. His shirt was still off, and Craig realized that the woman was wearing it. She must be the fan who Tweek said should "see see him after the show". Craig had thought it was a joke. A flirty nod to a fan, but not serious.

Tweek's eyes were shut, his lips slightly parted. His hands pressed against the wall behind him like they were searching for something to grab onto. That same soft moan rumbled from his throat. He looked quite beautiful. Angelic, almost, in his pleasure. Craig wasn't into watching straight sex acts, obviously, but he was so hard up that even this was causing his cock to stir. He so badly wanted to be in one of their positions. Either one was fine. He so craved his dick in a mouth  _and_  his mouth on a dick.

His breathing grew heavier and louder. His pulse quickened. He knew he should leave. He wasn't meant to see this. But his feet were lead and he couldn't pull himself away. His eyes were transfixed on Tweek's pelvic muscles, faintly defined and flexing ever so slightly.

Craig's gaze moved back up to Tweek's face, only for him to realize that Tweek was staring at him. Their eyes locked and Tweek's lips slowly spread into a smile. They stared awkwardly at each other for what felt like forever, before Tweek let his eyes roll back in his head, grin still planted firmly on his face.

Craig felt his stomach drop. That was enough to pull him out of this horny hypnosis. He turned on his heel and hurried out the door.

The walk back was equally uncomfortable. Craig walked as fast as he could to his hotel, surprised that he was able to find his way back without taking a wrong turn. He could feel his sensitive cock rubbing against his underwear with each step. It drove him crazy.

Back at the hotel, he took a cold shower to sober himself up and help with his growing problem. Afterward, he lied in bed, unable to sleep. He just couldn't get that image out of his head. Try as he might to think of something else, everything came back to the blowjob. Craig groaned in frustration once he was at full mast again, finally giving in. He spit in his hand and wrapped his long fingers around his dick. He thrust up into his hand, only needing a couple minutes to reach climax.

Afterward, he felt that same pang of guilt that he felt after fantasizing about Thomas. He was going to be spending two months traveling with this Tweek guy and his friends. This was not the way to start the trip. Craig fell asleep with one thought lingering in his mind.

Tomorrow morning was going to be weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to chat with me on Tumblr ("OtherLuces"), if you'd like. Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Craig winced at the sound of his alarm going off. It sounded like a dozen horns blaring directly into his ears. He shielded his eyes from the light that was already spilling into the room. He sighed, knowing that he couldn't ignore the alarm, and rolled out of bed.

He stood in his underwear for about ten minutes, simply going back and forth on whether or not he should shower again. His shame got the best of him. He didn't want to risk anyone being able to catch the lingering scent of his late night jerking session. That would be an awful way to start what was essentially his first day of work.

Thankfully, this hotel offered plain black tea as well as the hipster flavors. He grabbed a muffin while his tea was steeping. He bit into it, thinking it was going to be a banana nut muffin, only to immediately spit it back out into the trash once he discovered it was actually bran. What was with these hotels? Did they actually think anyone wanted a bite of chewy sawdust in the morning? Was it really  _that_  important that business people stay regular?

He sighed, disappointed, and opened up a navigation app to enter the address where he was supposed to meet the band. The address just looked like someone's apartment, which made Craig curious. Where exactly would they be fitting this tour bus on a residential road?

Craig found his answer at 8 AM on the dot. He stood in front of the large tour bus that had completely blocked the left side of the street. A smaller van was parked in front of it. The van had a wrap-around on it that had the silhouette of each band member and "Humble Folx 2018 Tour" scrolled across in silver writing. Craig was quite pleased with how it looked. He had assumed it would be some gaudy monstrosity that he'd be embarrassed to be seen near.

He spotted a young woman with ebony hair talking to someone through a bluetooth earpiece. He assumed this, as there was no one near her while her mouth rapidly moved. She had a tablet in her hand, seemingly running down a final checklist. He realized that she obviously must be the band's road manager, and the woman he was scheduled to meet. Craig looked around and couldn't find the rest of the band anywhere. He was unsure why she requested him to arrive so early, but he figured she had a reason.

He approached her silently, hands in his khaki pockets, and stood patiently until she noticed him.

"Oh! Hi! You must be Craig, right?" she exclaimed, holding out her hand.

Craig followed through, taking her hand in his. "And you must be…Wendy, right?"

She had a firm, confident handshake. Craig had just met her and he could already tell that she was head bitch in charge. It made him feel at ease.

"Give me one sec," she added. "The journalist who's shadowing us just got here, Leo, so I'm gonna have to let you go. Once everything is loaded and the rest of the road crew is accounted for, you guys can head out, okay? See you later."

She pressed a button on her earpiece and turned back to Craig.

"How was the plane ride here?" she asked. "I know JFK can be a nightmare, especially at this time of year."

"It wasn't too bad. I made it okay." Craig stared at her, the mood between them growing uncomfortable. He just wasn't quite sure what to say next. He generally wasn't one for small talk this early in the morning.

"Alright, well, let's get started by looking over the final plan."

Wendy pulled a stylus out from her shirt pocket. After a series of clicks, she moved closer to Craig to show him the screen.

"So we have a really busy schedule ahead of us. The tour is taking place over fifty-seven days and we have forty cities to cover."

"That seems like a lot for a newer band," said Craig.

"It's precisely because we're a newer band. I want the boys to get out there and spread their music as far as they can. If the tour goes well, it will help the album sales, and help establish them on the mainstream scene."

"You're not afraid of burnout? Have they toured this intensely before?"

"Well...no. But I've taken that into consideration! I have several plans in place to keep them hydrated and healthy along the way. I have a degree in music management and marketing from Berklee. I got things under control."

Craig pursed his lips. He wanted to trust Wendy's judgement, but he was a little worried about her optimistic attitude. It's not like he himself had been on tour before, but he had read so many accounts of young bands biting off more than they could chew and becoming exhausted before their tours were finished. Canceling dates was not good for public image.

"Now onto hotel arrangements," Wendy continued. "Um, unfortunately the hotels were booked well in advance, before you were brought on. I tried to book an extra room for you, but everyone is booked solid. Luckily, with a five member band, one of the rooms has an extra bed. You don't mind rooming with one of the guys, do you?"

"Nah, that's fine. It'll help me get to know them, I guess. It'll definitely give me something to write about for that daily diary thing."

"Yes. About that. You'll be helping us with promotion a lot by posting those every day. I hope it goes without saying that it is to be professional and not trashy, but still be fun and get people hyped about the tour."

"Of course. I'm not fucking TMZ," Craig replied.

Wendy paused, deciding to ignore Craig's foul language. "Also I'm going to need you to send out at least three tweets a day. Social media is so important for new bands to make their mark."

"Uh...yeah I could do that, but I think it's important for you to know that I only have maybe two hundred followers. Three hundred, tops. I don't have much of a presence on Twitter."

"Hmm. Well, any promotion is good promotion. And I'll have the boys tweet at you to help get your numbers up."

"Hey, speaking of which, where are they? I thought they'd be here already?"

Wendy sighed. "I'm not surprised. I usually tell them to be at gigs an hour ahead of when I really need them there." She stared off into the middle distance. "Sometimes it feels like I'm their tour mom, not their tour manager. They're lucky we went to school together, or I wouldn't put up with nearly as much as I do."

Some raucous laughter was heard coming out of the building in front of the bus. The door swung open and Humble Folx came filing out. It appeared that last night had clearly taken its toll on them. Kenny slowly dragged his feet over the threshold of the door, obviously still hungover. His face was completely hidden by his hoodie. Jimmy was less sluggish, but was still wearing his clothes from yesterday, and it appeared that there were some fresh hickeys on his neck. Clyde was oddly chipper in his demeanor, despite looking like death. He had been the one laughing loudly, much to Kenny's chagrin. Token was the only one of the four who looked well-rested and ready for the day.

Wait...why were only four members here?

* * *

Tweek didn't have to worry about waking up on time because he had never gone to sleep. After partaking in some of the more  _enjoyable_  perks of being the frontman of a rock band, he had simply wandered around the city for a while. The other guys had gone back to the apartment once the bar finally kicked them all out, but they must have been too drunk to notice that he wasn't with them. That wasn't an uncommon event. Tweek often stayed up later than his friends, and when the adrenaline of a show had worn off, Tweek wasn't much of a presence. His newly green hair made him stand out a little more than usual, but overall he wasn't quite impressive on a day to day basis.

He was an average height, and an average weight for that average height. He worked out a little bit, but not enough to be noticed for it. He kept his frantic, shaggy hair pulled back with two stainless steel barrettes, one on either side of his head. He kept to himself most of the time. Overall, he was fairly unremarkable.

Unless he was performing, of course. Then that average guy who blended into the walls suddenly became a somebody. Somebody who grabbed people's attention and held it in a death grip until he was good and done with them. When Tweek was in performance mode he was—dare he say it?—fun.

But performance mode doesn't last forever, and eventually, like clockwork, Tweek would end up somewhere quiet and alone by the time the sun rose. Probably wearing shades to hide the bloodshot eyes and puffy lids of the hangover he inevitably would have. This morning, he found himself sitting next to Cherry Creek. It was one of Tweek's favorite spots in Denver. He had written many a song while sitting near it. His feet had just brought him here on their own today. Like his subconscious wanted him to say goodbye to her, if only for now.

Tweek watched the sun rise higher over the city skyline, light spilling out from behind the buildings. His usual frantic thoughts were coming back to him now that he was far enough removed from the stage. He thought about where he had come from and where he was headed. He thought about the people who had scoffed at his dreams and those who had supported them. He thought about how fortunate he was to be in this position, but also of the hardships he endured to get there. He became so lost in the anxiety of leaving for the tour that he didn't see when it was time to head back to the apartment.

When he  _did_  check his phone for the time, it was already eight. He shrieked aloud, startling a middle aged woman who was on her morning power walk. It would take him at least thirty minutes to get back.

On the way, he decided to stop and get a coffee from one of his favorite places. The desire for a fresh cup trumped his concern over being late. He was already late anyway, what was an extra ten minutes going to do?

Tweek finally strolled up to the apartment at a quarter to nine. He noticed that Wendy was speaking to some dude in a blue knit chullo over by the van.  _Nice choice of headgear in the summer, dumbass_ , he thought. He quickly ran onto the bus before she could notice his late arrival and scold him accordingly.

"Heeeyyy!" Clyde exclaimed. "Look who's finally here!"

Jimmy and Kenny winced at the loud noise.

"Clyde...pl-please keep it down. A-a-asshole."

"I still don't get how he becomes  _more_  annoying when he's hungover," Kenny mumbled, sliding down further on the leather couch.

"He's always been like this," Token added. "Since the first time he ever drank."

"Why are you not aff-f-fected, Token?" Jimmy asked.

"Cause I didn't drink last night. Since this was our last night in Denver, I went over Nichole's place and we had our own release party, if you catch my drift." He was grinning from ear to ear.

"Well, I'm glad that  _someone_  got laid last night. I ended up getting so shitfaced that I couldn't keep the damn thing up. I'm such a fucking idiot," Kenny muttered.

"I fell asleep!" Clyde turned around in his seat and leaned against the back, bouncing up and down. He looked like an excited puppy. "I think I may still be drunk!"

"Clearly," Token laughed.

"…I got head in the bathroom last night," Tweek quietly said into his coffee cup.

That caused the other four to perk right up.

"The slut st-strikes again, huh?"

"Dammit, Jimmy, not you too!" Tweek whined.

"Hello hello! I'm coming up!" Wendy called out, quickly halting their conversation as she entered the bus.

"Oh good, Tweek, you finally decided to show up. The driver just arrived, so we'll be heading out shortly. I just wanted to introduce you to our guest of honor before we left. Guys, this is Craig Tucker."

Craig appeared behind Wendy. His eyes went directly to Tweek before quickly looking away. Tweek's eyes widened once he got a good look at his face. He was definitely thankful that he had worn shades that morning. What were the fucking odds of  _this_? He slowly sank in his chair, hoping that no one would notice the flush appearing in his cheeks.

"He'll be riding in the van with me, for now. Once you guys all develop a rapport, he can ride with you and start on the interview process. Okay then, I'll see you guys somewhere in Wyoming when we stop for food. Don't be a dick to the driver, okay?"

The guys said hello to Craig and thanked Wendy before the two left the bus. Kenny noticed that Tweek looked like an uncomfortable puddle in his seat.

"Dude, Tweek. What the fuck are you doing?" he asked.

"Err...you know…stretching…?" Tweek weakly replied.

"Th-that's a stretch, alright," Jimmy joked.

"Ah fuck. Uhh…you know how I said I got head last night?" Tweek shielded his face with his hand.

"Oh my god, Tweek. Don't you  _dare_  fucking say you got blown by the journalist  _already_ ," Token said, rubbing his temples.

"Jesus Christ! No!" Tweek screeched. "Who do you think I am, Token? Fuck!" He squirmed in his seat. "He just...ngh...came into the bathroom and saw me getting blown."

Clyde found this incredibly funny. "We haven't even left on tour yet and Craig has already seen your dick, dude!" he laughed. "Do you think he'll write about that for the magazine?"

By now, Tweek's face was completely red and there was no hiding it any longer. His friends laughed at his expense, which, although he knew that they loved him and weren't doing so with malice, was not helping his anxiety, or his hangover. He abruptly jumped out of his seat and ran to the bathroom at the back of the bus.

He barely made it to the toilet before he unloaded the contents of his stomach. Hunched over the small bowl, tears in the corners of his eyes, he began to think about how he went about making choices in his life. Most of them had led him to this place. Led him to being on a tour bus about to travel across the country with his four best friends. Even the objectively bad decisions. But this one decision, the one led by the brain in his dick, may just have turned the next two months into the most awkward and uncomfortable of his life.

Tweek flushed the toilet and rinsed his mouth out with water in the sink. He slowly walked back into the main living area of the bus and lied down next to Clyde, resting his head in his lap. Clyde gently stroked Tweek's hair. Tweek sighed with resignation.

"Guys...I'm a huge fucking slut," he admitted.

Kenny nodded and hummed. "Admitting it is the first step, my friend."

* * *

The drive up through Wyoming was uneventful. The hungover members of Humble Folx tried to sleep it off to no avail, settling on a couple ibuprofen a piece and a lot of water. Thankfully, Token kept quiet. It took a lot for him to not play the " _I told you so"_  card, given the fact that they all knew that they had to be ready early to leave. Still, it's not like he hadn't been over-served in the past when he should have known better. It happened more often than he'd like to admit. He knew it would be more helpful to just keep to himself for the morning and let the others recuperate.

The drive for Wendy and Craig was just as dull. Craig gathered that Wendy was a woman who didn't like small talk. Probably because there were more important things for her to be concerned about. He was totally fine with that. He wasn't a fan either. The silent ride was a gift, as it gave him time to contemplate how to not be awkward around Tweek.

He had seen Tweek's super subtle reaction to his presence on the bus. Craig may have appeared calm and aloof on the outside, but on the inside, he had been screaming. He couldn't look at Tweek for more than a second before he had to look away. How was he going to interview this guy, let alone _exist_ around him? Craig had never been in this situation before. Sure, he'd walked in on people having sex before. He walked in on Stan more times than he could remember. But he always shut his eyes and exited the room as fast as possible. He'd never  _lingered_. He'd never experienced enjoyment from voyeurism.

Craig sighed. Wendy didn't seem to notice, or at least didn't bother asking him what was wrong. Craig wasn't sure how he'd explain it to her anyway if she did.

Around 1PM, both vehicles pulled into a truck stop for lunch. They all found themselves sitting around a large table at Denny's. Tweek sat as far as he could from Craig without sitting directly across from him. He had strategized the seating arrangement ahead of time and made sure that he took his seat after Craig did. Clyde sat directly next to Craig, which made Tweek happy. Clyde would talk the most during the meal and hopefully keep Craig's attention focused on him. Clyde was a good friend, whether or not he realized what he was doing.

Once the food was ordered, Craig figured this would be a good time to try to get to know the guys. He'd decided on the trip here that he'd fight the uncomfortable feeling gnawing at his insides by acting like it wasn't there.

"So...yeah...I'm Craig. I didn't get to say it before, but it's nice to meet you all."

Clyde clapped his large hand on Craig's back, jolting him forward. "It's nice to meet you too, dude! We know you'll fit right in!"

"Why do you say that?" Token asked.

"Well...uh...cause he seems like a cool guy, and we're cool guys, so...dammit, shut up Token!"

Token laughed and threw his straw wrapper at Clyde.

"Th-thanks for agreeing to come with us, Craig," said Jimmy.

"Wait, you're thanking me?" Craig asked. "Shit, I should be thanking you guys. Before this, I was just a grunt. Sure they let me write something, but it was like letting a kid help with the chores. They're technically helping, but it's not real in a significant way."

"I honestly thought it was a joke when Clyde came to me saying Tweek had agreed to do an interview, as long as it was you," said Wendy.

Craig chuckled. "I thought the asshole assistant of my boss was trying to do some elaborate prank when he told me. Although maybe it still sort of  _is_  a prank, because now he's kind of my boss for the summer."

The food arrived, stopping conversation for a while as everyone dug into their meals.

"So when did you guys start as a band?" Craig asked through a mouthful of hamburger.

Clyde finished slurping down his Coke before answering. "We all went to school together back in South Park. I think we met in...what?...third grade?"

Kenny nodded, holding a fry between his fingers. "Yeah. We didn't really become friends until fourth grade, though. Back then we were a bunch of punk ass kids just trying to have fun."

"We did make some pretty good memories," said Jimmy.

"Anyway," Clyde continued, "somewhere in middle school, we kinda drifted apart. You know how things go. You're in separate classes once they start having classes for smart kids."

They all turned to look at Token, who flipped them off with a smile.

"But then in high school, Token and I started jamming together after school and on the weekends. He got his bass from his dad, who used to play in the nineties. My dad got me my first guitar for Christmas. We were still just learning how to play, but we were  _really_  passionate about it."

"We sucked pretty hard, dude," Token laughed.

"One Saturday night, I was walking back from my part-time job," said Kenny, "and I hear these two assholes making all sorts of noise. So naturally I climbed up the tree outside Clyde's room and sat on his windowsill until they noticed me."

"Clyde screamed like a little girl," said Token, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"I did no-! Okay yeah I did. But can you blame me? He just appeared out of nowhere!"

"I'm mysterious like that," Kenny grinned.

"Anyway, Kenny asked to join us. Turned out that he was a fucking natural on the drums. By that point, we started our own sort of garage band, just playing covers of songs we liked. We put flyers around the school looking for some more people. Jimmy approached us and asked if we needed someone to play the keyboard. We said why the fuck not?!"

Craig realized that Tweek had been silent the entire time they were in the diner. He didn't even speak when he ordered his food. He simply pointed to the item he wanted on the menu. Craig had been told that he was a social recluse, but he had thought it was an exaggeration, especially after seeing how charismatic and engaging Tweek was on stage. He looked over at him and felt that uneasy feeling getting stronger. Was this just how things were going to be on this tour?

"Hey Tweek. How did you get involved?" Craig asked.

He hoped that by asking him a simple question, it might get Tweek to join in the conversation. Maybe by engaging him in a professional manner, it would help distract the both of them from the embarrassing private history they shared together.

Tweek glanced up at Craig. Craig was looking directly at him with a blank expression. That was the  _worst_  possible outcome for Tweek. Not being able to read what he was thinking or feeling made him feel a surge of dread in the pit of his stomach. If Craig had been smiling, or laughing, or hell, even looking like he wanted to murder someone, it would have been a million times better than literally  _nothing_. He thought Craig kind of looked like a mannequin, and that made him even more freaked out. He quickly pushed out his chair and left the restaurant.

They all stared at the door through which Tweek had disappeared. The remaining members of the band turned back to Craig, solemn looks of apology covering their faces.

"Sorry about Tweek, man," said Kenny. "I guess he ran out of spoons already."

"It's fine," Craig said, but he did so out of politeness. "I understand that he has a lot he has to deal with. He can take his time. It's not like I'm going anywhere soon."

Clyde clapped his hand on Craig's back again. "You're a good fucking dude, Craig Tucker."

* * *

It was going on 6:30PM when they finally arrived at the hotel. It was still bright outside, but given the long trip and intensity of the previous night, everyone felt exhausted. Wendy and Craig grabbed their luggage from the back of the van, while the band members filed off of the bus with their bags in tow. Wendy led the pack into the hotel and took control of check-in. The rest wandered around the lobby, with Kenny and Clyde sniffing around the hotel bar.

Tweek, however, still remained on the bus. He paced back and forth, biting at his fingertips. His anxiety had flared up even more during the ride after lunch. He really didn't want to face strangers in the hotel, and he  _definitely_  didn't want to face Craig. He was cranky and tired and honestly felt like if he had to talk to someone who wasn't one of his friends, he'd punch them in the jaw.

Tweek's fingertips started to hurt. He had to suck it up and get into the hotel, or he'd gnaw them until they bled. He frantically looked around the bus for something to cover himself with so that he didn't have to look at anyone. Clyde had left his hoodie on the bus. Bless that lovable idiot. Tweek pulled it over his head, making sure the hood sat low enough to cover his eyes.

He peeked out from behind the bus door, just to make sure the coast was clear. He saw his opportunity, so he snuck out, closed the door behind him, and scurried toward the hotel.

Craig was standing in the lobby, browsing the display of flyers for local events and sightseeing. Not that he'd necessarily have time to visit any of them, but it was something to bide his time while he waited for his key card. Once the keys were handed out, Craig volunteered to linger in the lobby, waiting for Tweek. Wendy told him that she could do it instead, but Craig insisted, saying that he needed to use every opportunity he could to get to know him. Truthfully, he needed to talk to Tweek about the previous night, and this was his chance.

He looked up when he heard the hotel door close. That manic hoodie in a roughly human shape was undoubtedly Tweek.

"Hey! Tweek!" Craig called out.

Tweek tugged the hood further over his face and his brisk walk turned into a run toward the elevator.

"HEY!" Craig yelled. He ran after Tweek toward the open elevator.

Tweek frantically pressed the close door button, cursing it under his breath for taking too long.

Craig slipped into the elevator right as the door began to shut, but Tweek didn't have enough time to jump back out before it sealed.

Craig stared at the back of Tweek's oversized hoodie. He knew what he wanted to say, but getting the right words to come out was a whole other story.

Tweek put his fingers back up to his mouth. He bit into the tip of his thumb, hoping that the pain would wake him from this anxiety dream.

"So...about last night," Craig began.

"Nngh," Tweek groaned. "I don't really want to talk about it." He couldn't get himself to look at Craig.

"Yeah, neither do I."

Craig rubbed at the back of his neck. He usually never had trouble speaking his mind, so why now?

"But the fact of the matter is that you and I are going to be seeing each other every damn day for the next two months, and I don't know about you, but I sure as hell don't want to feel this bullshit uneasy feeling every time I see you. It's not professional and it's not cute."

Tweek raised his eyebrows under the hood. He dropped his hands to his sides.

"You're getting that feeling, too?" he asked, finally turning around to face Craig.

"Yes. And I fucking hate it."

Tweek sputtered into laughter. Craig's eyes widened, and for a split second, he thought he was going to get murdered right here in the elevator.

"You seemed so unfazed. I thought I was the only one freaking out."

The elevator slowed down to their floor. The door slid open to reveal a floral print rug and beige wallpaper. They both stepped out, and Craig was afraid that Tweek would run back into the elevator and disappear again. Thankfully, he stayed.

"Ahh...you know...I don't usually do… _that_ ," Tweek continued. "You know, the whole... _you know_."

"Look. We don't need to talk about what you did or what I saw in any specifics. I just wanted to clear the air in some way, and then never speak of it again."

"I can do that."

"Starting tomorrow, let's have a fresh start. A purely professional relationship. Interviewer and subject."

"Musician and journalist," Tweek replied.

"Exactly. Deal?"

"Deal."

Craig extended his right hand, looking to confirm the agreement with a handshake. Tweek pulled his hoodie back just enough so that Craig could see his face. He reached out his hand and clasped it around Craig's. They looked each other in the eye as they shook hands, and they both felt a sort of curious electricity from the other. An electricity that they both chose to ignore, for now.

 

(Art by @kristindoesart/@maryreadings on tumblr)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Please leave a comment if it brought you some enjoyment. Thank you and I appreciate you taking the time to read this, especially when there are hundreds of other Creek fics to choose from.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah…haven’t touched this story since the end of October. >.< I apologize about that to anyone who was following it. I became majorly blocked on what I wanted to happen other than just smut, you know?
> 
> Anyway, I’ve been trying to work on it again recently. This is a much shorter chapter than the previous ones, but I wanted to put something out to get me back into the groove. It’s not an eventful chapter…just our heroes being hard up and talking about it. ^^()
> 
> If you’re reading this, I just want to thank you for giving it a peek. I really appreciate it.

The hairs on the back of Craig's neck were still standing up from his encounter with Tweek. After they had agreed to be professional, he had the sudden realization that they might be roommates tonight. Wendy had handed him the keycard without saying who had its pair. He didn't think he'd be able to handle rooming with Tweek tonight. not when there was a seventy percent chance that he was going to have more shower thoughts about the way he looked the night before.

To his relief, they were in separate rooms. Tweek stopped at room 814, while Craig continue to room 818. He slid the keycard into the door and waited for the click. He glanced over at Tweek's door before he opened it. Tweek was staring at him. Once Tweek saw that Craig had noticed, he startled and quickly opened the door, closing it behind him.

Once Craig was certain that Tweek's door was closed, he opened his own door to find who his surprise partner would be for the evening. He was immediately greeted by a series of warm-up scales and chord progressions on an unplugged guitar.

"Oh, hey dude!" said Clyde.

He was lying on the bed closest to the window and had clearly made himself comfortable in the short time he had been alone in the room. His suitcase was already open, some of its contents strewn around his side of the floor. He was also already half-naked, as he had stripped down to just a pair of black basketball shorts. Clyde had a build that was reminiscent of a lumberjack. Thick and strong, but with soft layer of fat around the midsection for those cold Colorado winters. He was also clearly not into "manscaping", but Craig appreciated it. He was honestly getting tired of the hairless scene back in New York.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm letting it all hang out a bit," Clyde laughed. "I know it sounds stupid, but I practice better naked."

Craig's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but Clyde cut him off before he could make a retort.

"Mostly naked, that is! I promise I'm going to keep my pants on while on tour! I only go all out when I'm alone in my room. Or when I have a special guest with me, if you catch my drift."

Clyde laughed low in his throat. The sound sent Craig's thoughts in directions he really didn't need them to go in right now. It was bad enough that he had made the promise to himself that he'd have sex with someone and move on from Thomas this summer,  _and_  he had been horny lately—frustratingly so. He really didn't need to start finding every member of Humble Folx attractive. He really didn't need that kind of thirsty energy around him when he was  _trying_  to be a professional and  _not_  a horny groupie.

"Yeah. It's fine, dude. Clyde, right? I need to start remembering your names so I'm not just calling you all 'dude'. It'll get confusing."

"Yup, that's it! Don't wear it out!" Clyde laughed. "I only like hearing my name said over and over when I'm on stage in front of adoring fans, or when it's being called out by a hot piece of ass."

Clyde had a dopey grin on his face. He shut his eyes while his fingers danced up the guitar's neck.

Craig shook his head and rolled his eyes. Clyde was clearly overcompensating for something. He was probably in denial of his sexuality, or maybe afraid to come out to others. He could be overcompensating for his dick, but based on what Craig could see outlined through the cheaply made shorts, Clyde had nothing to worry about. Maybe he really was just one of those straight guys who felt the need to constantly tell people who straight they were. Craig really hoped it wasn't that, or then this summer would be a lot more difficult to survive.

Still, Craig was happy to have someone he could relate to in sheer level of horniness. He made a mental note to buy some ear plugs, just in case Clyde, or any other roommate, needed some private time during the tour.

"I'm gonna start writing my diary entry for today, if that's okay with you." Craig pulled his Surface Pro from his bag and crawled onto his bed.

"Yeah, dude! As long as you don't mind me playing, write on!" said Clyde.

Craig crossed his legs and opened up a word file. He scratched behind his ears, not really sure where to begin for this first entry. Not that much had happened during the day, in the grand scheme of things. Plus, the more significant things that happened to him  _personally_  weren't really something he should share with the world.

He started typing up some basic information—mainly about what the tour bus looked like, and his initial thoughts about what following the band would be like. He paused when he was done, tapping his fingers on the edge of the tablet. He was stuck.

Craig turned to look at Clyde while he practiced. He watched his long fingers flex and bend and move. Clyde's fingers were strong and calloused from years of playing. Craig's mind wandered to thinking about how rough Clyde's fingertips must feel, and how skilled his fingers would be with other activities. As soon as he felt his cheeks start to flush, he dug his fingernails into his thigh and cleared his throat.

Clyde opened his eyes to look at Craig. "What's up?"

"Uhh...on second thought...your playing is kinda...uh...distracting me."

Craig was afraid that Clyde would be able to see right through him. Thankfully, Clyde wasn't that perceptive.

"Yeah, dude, no problem! I'll just go take a shower so you can get your writing done."

"No!"

Craig's mouth yelled before his brain could stop him. If Clyde was this comfortable around strangers, there was a chance he'd come out of the shower buck naked, and Craig did not want to take that risk.

"I, uh...need you," Craig continued. "Need your help. I'm gonna...er, write short bios for each member of the band this week. That's how I'll start the diary off. You know...until the tour gets going and things start getting interesting."

"Oh, that's a great fucking idea!"

Clyde left his guitar on his bed and leapt over onto Craig's. He lied down across the bed, propping up his head on his arms.

"So whaddya wanna know?" he grinned.

 

* * *

 

Kenny startled when he heard the door slam shut. dropping his phone onto the bed. He looked up to see Tweek sliding down against the door until he was sitting on the floor. Tweek's face was buried in his hands, his upper body rocking gently back and forth. His hands muffled the long, monotone sound of agony that was coming from his throat.

"Hey, dude," said Kenny. He was unfazed by Tweek's actions at this point in their relationship. "It's about time you left the bus. It's not like we're barely going to be seeing it for the next two months."

Tweek slowly pulled his hands away from his face. It took him a moment, but he finally found his voice.

"I...I wasn't on the bus," he said. "I mean, I was, but I didn't just come from there. I mean, I did, but…"

"But? Spit it out, Tweek. What was it that took you so damn long?"

"I...ngh...I was in the elevator. Talking. Talking to the guy. The journalist guy."

"Craig? You know he has a fucking name, dude," Kenny laughed. "Alright, I'll bite. What did 'Mr. Journalist Guy' have to say?"

"He wanted to talk about him watching me get head in the bathroom last night."

Kenny keeled over onto his bed in a fit of laughter. "Of fucking  _course_  that's what he wanted to talk about!"

Tweek groaned and banged the back of his against the door.

"I am never letting you live that down, my man," Kenny said as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "So was that it? He just wanted to thank you for the live porn or something?"

"Jesus Christ, Ken! No! I would be mortified if he'd said that!"

"More mortified than you are right now? That'd be impressive."

"He basically said he wanted to start fresh. Like...like forget the whole thing ever happened and just be professional."

"That sounds pretty normal," said Kenny. He cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. "You think you can be normal for once?"

Tweek grimaced. "Ngh...I can be normal."

"No. No, you really can't, dude," Kenny chuckled. "You're hypersexual, high strung, stubborn, anxious as fuck, and in general, just a mess of a human being. And  _that_  is why you're my friend. If you were normal, you'd be boring as shit."

"Uh...thanks?" Tweek rolled his eyes and pulled himself up off the floor. "You're a great friend, Kenny, I'm so glad you believe in me."

"Hey, I just call 'em like I see 'em."

Tweek walked over to his own bed and sat down. He pulled a cigarette out of the pocket of his jeans and stuck it between his lips.

"Do you have a lighter on you?" he asked. "I can smoke in here, right? Cause now I'm a fucking rockstar and shit?"

"I don't think the hotel gives a fuck that we're a band. Also, do you really want to get chewed out by Wendy in the morning? Cause you know you wouldn't hear the end of it if the hotel staff tattled on us."

"Ugh, point."

Tweek plucked the cigarette from his mouth and stuffed it back into his pocket. He grumbled to himself as he stood up and began to pace around the room.

"This fucking sucks," he said.

"What does?" asked Kenny.

"This whole forgetting-it-never-happened thing."

"Dude, I'm sorry I said you can't be normal. Honestly, if you put your mind to it, I know you can do it."

"No, I can't," said Tweek. "I can't forget it ever happened and be strictly professional…cause now…I kinda want to fuck him."

Kenny let out a long sigh. "Of _course_  you do. Damn, you're even worse than me sometimes," he muttered under his breath. "Sure dude, whatever. He is pretty cute. Just fuck him and get it out of your system asap so that you can focus on the tour and doing that damn interview. That's the whole reason he's here, remember?"

Tweek ran his fingers through his hair and grabbed a fistful of his green locks, giving it a tug. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

"Plus, you should probably make sure he's into dudes first." Kenny returned to scrolling through his phone. He was growing bored with the ongoing conversation.

"He must be...right?" Tweek mused as he continued to pace back and forth. "Why else would he have lingered? Why would he have stopped to stare at me getting a blowjob if he was straight?"

Kenny looked up from his phone, incredulous. "Tweek. I'm very disappointed in you. You are not that naive. Most guys like getting blowjobs and would therefore be turned on by seeing someone get one, no matter what their sexuality is. It's not like straight guys never watch straight porn because there's another dude's dick flopping around."

"Yeah. Okay. Fine. But… It's just… You should have seen the way he was looking at me, Kenny. I can't get that out of my head. He had this hungry look in his eyes, and he was licking his bottom lip just a little. It was incredibly sexy. It kinda looked like maybe he-"

"Craved a blowjob of his own?" Kenny said.

Tweek stopped moving, choosing to stare at himself in the room's full length mirror. His hair was a mess and the bags under his eyes looked darker than usual. He really needed to get some sleep tonight.

"I dunno," he sighed. "Maybe it's just me seeing things that weren't really there. Maybe it's just wishful thinking cause he's cute and two rooms down."

"Well, buddy, it sounds like you have quite the predicament. I guess you have a few options," said Kenny. "You can take your time, get to know the guy, and feel out his sexual preferences that way. You could steal his laptop and take a look at his porn. Or you could just straight up ask him to go down on you."

"Gah! What the fuck, Kenny! Are you fucking insane?"

"Of course you'd both be drunk first. I mean…it's not like that strategy hasn't worked for you many times before," Kenny grinned.

Tweek pulled at his hair. "Nghh…. _nggghh_ ….fuck! I don't give a shit about hotel policy, I need a fucking cigarette! Gimme your goddamn lighter!"


End file.
